Yolk – poems – Camonghne Felix

mother, a mare overwrought with the front seat of her son’s slaughter…

…every day of this trial he dies’ – {from} Zimmerman Testimonies: Day 1

Shrinking from regression in the withheld aftermath, poet Camonghne Felix, with Yolk, grounds the otherness of now in the levitations of a peeled-off then. With language like ‘adolescent moon’ and ‘immature pond’, this is a speaking that draws on the undertow to break hallelujahs over angel ash and this is verse to vandalize the dreamy blight. Yolk sleeps with its mouth open might it echo in the hole of a bloodless rabbit. Chalking the elsewhere, Felix is a student of presence. As there is no shortage of future evidence, Felix does not use hunger to prove starvation but instead deepens the meat in the shallows of a body wrongly imagined by lower foods. Leaves god in some diner pounding for salt.